My Newest Alliance
by rae1112
Summary: Russia needs some help with love, because America is being predictably difficult. In his desperation, he turns to England. And recieves some questionable results. RusUS, RusUK, AmCan?
1. Chapter 1

**AN: I do not own Axis Powers Hetalia. Yo.**

**...Ch.1**

"Get out of my _face_ you big-nosed Russian creep!"

Always so enigmatic, with blue eyes flashing and golden hair wild. And no trace of fear. It was as admirable as it was rare, that much Russia would concede. In fact, it would be generous to praise the American's courage and self assertion.

"Perhaps if you were willing to pull your ignorant head out of your ass, _comrade, _your face would remember that it crashed into me first."

…That was close enough to a compliment, nyet?

But obviously, America was too stupid to read between the lines. Instead he glared, shoving his glasses further up his nose, and replying "I can crash into you whenever I goddamn feel like it, commie!" His harsh tone didn't faze Russia.

"Commie? Still? And I thought you were a nation of the _future_ America. Pity you can't let go of your crippling paranoia yet." Rather than rising to the bait, America merely sneered and pushed his way past the larger Russian man.

Lovely.

And so went another disastrous, yet typical, encounter with the North American superpower. Russia sighed in discontent and leaned against a nearby wall.

It was November 12, 2011. The annual "Nation's Relations Summit" had began last week. As had Russia's newest independent operation, '_Improve affairs with that thick skulled American imbecile who can't get over himself long enough to realize that he is irreversibly attracted to me, da?'_

The title was a work in progress.

As was the actual operation. In fact, for some reason, America was anything but receptive to Russia's friendly advances (pushing each other into walls was quite friendly, wasn't it? It was a display of boyish affection!). The whole mess was very confusing for the large nation. The challenge America presented was what attracted Russia in the first place. But the younger man's stubborn attitude could get annoying quite fast, and therefore, become quite the deterrent. Hopefully, the rewards would justify the painful and poignant headaches.

Whatever the situation, it had to be resolved during this particular conference, the last one of the year. Afterward, Russia had a boss to advise and a political system to fix. He would have no time to constantly worry about such trivialities.

But no worries. Because Russia still had a month.

An entire month.

An entire month, for the month long summit, which would focus all of its monthly goodness on the issue of _wildlife fucking preservation._

Needless to say, of the Braginski clan, only Ukraine displayed any semblance of excitement.

"Rusia! Ela burzo, zapochvame!" some insignificant nation called. Russia glowered, and the smaller Slavic state scurried away to his superior European Union partners. Humph. Wouldn't have been so insignificant if you stayed one with Russia, huh Bulgaria? Da, you scurry away, you brown eyed little shit.

….~

"Save the pandas aru!"

"Excuse me, but I think koalas are a _bit more important than-"_

"What about all the contaminated fish off those Nordics' coasts?"

"For the last time, we are _separate countries-"_

Russia tried very hard to ignore them all (and it _was_ hard to do so; China was very persistent in getting the pale nation involved. He failed to understand that, incredibly, panda's were not Russia's number one priority at the moment).

Instead, the Russian turned to America, who was also contributing minimally to the debate. The younger man was doodling discreetly, avoiding England's flailing hands as the Briton argued the importance of some deranged squirrel. The chaos gave Russia plenty of time to ponder the ridiculous attraction he felt for the even more ridiculous bespectacled idiot across the table. It couldn't just be that the boy was good looking. All nations were good looking, after all; they embodied their respective society's standards for beauty. It certainly couldn't be his brains, because America was a superficial fool, whose intelligence in mathematics and sciences was wasted, due to his people's beliefs that blowing up the moon was a more important venture than fixing the crashing American educational system.

(So Russia watched BBC news occasionally. Who didn't? Trust England to come up with a straightforward and incongruously _boring _news broadcasting agency.)

Was it America's style? His charm, or lack thereof? His absurdity, or his unbalanced, yet familiar, cruelty-

It seemed Russia had been staring too long, because America's sky blue eyes looked up and flashed. The younger nation made a face of disgust. Russia, used to the boy's typical antics, attempted to play it cool, letting a haunting smile grace his own face. America, sensing a nonexistent challenge, did not look away, and merely morphed his disgusted countenance into a deep sneer. Russia simply continued staring blanky, restraining the 'kols' threatening to break through his throat. America leaned forward, now fully paying attention, gazing heavily with alert eyes, his sharp _eyes_, and again with the golden hair, when would it stop _shining_ and Russia felt his resolve weakening fast-

-that is, until England's empassioned fist hit America in the nose, forcing the young man to break contact. Russia smiled wider, relieved. A win was a win, after all.

"God, will you watch where you aim your sticks for hands, please?"

"I'm sorry, you prat, I didn't mean to. But just remember, that isn't even a fraction of the pain a red squirrel is forced to endure every day because of-"

"What the fuck is a _red squirrel_?"

"Wha-I-you-_you-_wanker, you haven't listened to me this _entire time, have you?"_

And they were off. Around the table, nations of all ethnicities groaned. Russia frowned, sharing their displeasure. Perhaps the win wasn't worth losing America's attention, after all.

After the brief and aggressive interlude (in which the red squirrel's importance to the universe was staunchly established), the debates droned on, covering everything from endangered priorities to plant-life investigations, and other such bullshit that would never get resolved because of money matters and propaganda strategists.

Still, there were a few stand-out presentations. Despite England's ridiculous hand gestures, his argument on behalf of the red squirrel was sound and legit, even earning the island some well deserved applause. Germany, efficient as always, managed to make everyone care about some obscure piece of algae on the bottom of the ocean.

And America's confident and boisterous contention for the noble bald eagle…

Russia shifted in his seat.

Well. Perhaps there was something to be said for America's intelligence after all.

…~

After a couple of slide shows, an impromptu dance contest, and a fashion emergency (courtesy of France, that empty-headed pretty boy), Germany dismissed the nations for the day. Russia quickly walked out of the conference hall, and away from China, hoping to God that the words "panda, aru!' would never be uttered in his presence again.

He looked around, and spotted his usual associates whispering secretly in a darkened corner. Creepy. No point in attempting to mingle with that particular mess of states. And besides. Stalking America seemed like a far more entertaining idea anyway. It wouldn't be hard, finding _or_ tracking him, considering the superpower was screaming loudly at his British counterpart and resolutely tripping over some idiot with a teddy bear. Russia began following the three, not even bothering to mask the sound of his footsteps. The American's deafening bellows were enough to drown out the loudest of noises.

Or so Russia assumed. The theory proved incorrect when the teddy bear man turned around. Before Russia could say anything, the boy shot him a bewildered look. "Um, e-excuse me, but…why are you following us?" the shorter nation (he was a nation, right? Or not, Russia didn't particularly care) asked.

Russia nearly snorted. Following _us? _Kid, you wish you were important enough to be stalked by the Russian Federation.

Unfortunately, the stupid question attracted America's attention. The blonde turned around and immediately twisted his face in displeasure. However, he didn't say anything. Neither did Russia. And as a result, the situation quickly became awkward.

After a few seconds of fidgeting, England cleared his throat. This was uncomfortable for him in all kinds of ways. "Erm, Russia…anything in, erm, particular, that you wanted?" The question looked like it physically pained the Briton.

Then again, England always looked pained when speaking to (or about) Russia. Only heaven knew why.

"Ah. Da. Well." Russia, caught up in glaring at America, could not come up with a menacing reply fast enough. He pulled at his scarf. "I just wanted to…congratulate you both, on making such…commendable points…on the wildlife… front." Dear Christ that was horrible. Where was Belarus when he needed her. To cover up his weak statement, Russia smiled with what looked like friendly purpose.

Apparently England was not familiar with friendly purposes because he started whimpering. Which finally snapped America out of his seemingly frozen state of mind. "Yeah, well, we know we did awesome, so there's no need for some politically back-dropped country to inform us of it, thanks."

Russia furrowed his brows, smile falling. "I see your manners are as impeccable as ever, America. Do you always accept compliments so gracefully?"

At this point, America's whole face was scrounged up. A bit like a sponge. It made for an amusing sight. "I'd accept them gracefully if they were said with grace, asshole." Turning toward the exit, America grabbed England's arm. "C'mon, fellow democratic state, come with me so that we may celebrate our freedom and values without nasty eastern contamination."

"America, I think Russia is also-" with a violent jerk, England was interrupted, and Russia watched the two Western powers make their exit in silence.

He then turned, coming face to face with teddy bear man. Well.

"Why are you still here?" Russia inquired politely.

….~

Obviously this operation was not going as planned. Compliments and rough-housing were not enough to break through the viciously biased American mindset. Perhaps Russia could try being more…romantic? Relatable? Warm? Urgh, all those things made him sick to his stomach, and he didn't even know if such traits would attract the excitable blonde.

He needed help. That much was clear. He needed some sort of guidance, or advice, from someone who knew America as a person all too well. It would be embarrassing to ask for such help…but it was far more embarrassing to blatantly fail at a conquest, even one so insignificant as this.

At the sound of laughter, Russia jerked from his spot on an abandoned park bench. Coming down the cobbled-road were France, Prussia, Spain, and England, all quite obviously amused by something pretentious. Russia rolled his eyes. And people wondered why he was not quick to jump on the EU bandwagon.

However, a thought occurred to Russia as he watched France and Spain attempt to lift England into a spewing fountain.

_Someone who knew America as a person all too well._

England screamed shrilly, clinging desperately to Prussia as the other two pulled him closer to the fountain.

And Russia smiled, reveling in the Bad Touch Trio's maniacal laughter.

**AN: I...hope that was obvious enough...**

**Quick Translation. Bulgaria said 'Russia, come quickly, it's starting'. I don't actually have the cyrillic alphabet on my computer, so painfully enough, all Russian must look like that. .**

**Haha, I love pagebreaks~~~**


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: Thanks for faves, reviews and alerts!**

**...Ch. 2**

Thank god the conference was in London. It meant that England would stay at his own house rather than a hotel. Which in turn meant that there would be no need to involve drugs or threats or innocent people.

…Not that Russia would ever stoop to such unsanitary levels.

And everyone knew where England's house was. Because he hadn't moved since 1546. It was sort of impressive. Either that, or British people were particularly thick, failing to notice an immortal being keeping up his rosebushes for hundreds of years. Russia decided to give the citizens the benefit of the doubt, because he was feeling generous.

Unfortunately (for everyone involved), England had gone drinking that night (or so Russia assumed, it was nine thirty after all), meaning that the taller man needed to wait until some outrageous time in the morning to ask the British nation for...dear god, _advice._

One knew they were in a bad place when they needed help from the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland.

Instead of waiting outside in the cold like an idiot, Russia entered the house, fully intending to make use of England's grandiose kitchen to make them both some baklava.

(It never occurred to the front door lock to try and stop the Slavic nation from entering.)

On the way to the kitchen, however, Russia got distracted by England's vast living room and, more significantly, his copious amount of framed pictures, which covered most of his walls and all of his tables.

There were many with his European cohorts, of course. Dozens with France (most featuring a yelling England), even more with France, England, Prussia, and Spain (dear god, had the idiotic bad touch brigade widened?), a few with Denmark (who was licking England's face in all of them), and one with the entire European Union, including Russia's boot (Ah, Russia remembered that day. He hadn't walked fast enough to ruin their picture. Pity).

And then, there were even more with England and his ex-colonies, all posed a bit awkwardly, yet looking genuinely cheerful. India, Hong Kong, Australia, Nigeria, _Teddy Bear Man?, _Seychelles...

And America.

Russia laughed. Trust America to have the stupidest looking photos of the bunch. The poor boy was _not _photogenic, despite his Hollywood looks.

"R-Russia?"

_What the hell- _Russia spun partly around and found a perfectly sober England, making a face resembling a dying walrus, and holding a paper bag filled with what looked like groceries.

Huh. Not drinking then.

Who went grocery shopping at ten at night?

Russia turned to fully face the Briton. "Good evening Com-"

"RAAAAAAAAAAARH!" England interrupted with a shriek, flinging his groceries to the side.

"-rade..." Russia finished, a bit awkwardly.

_"Oh god Russia please don't hurt me it won't solve anything I'm sorry for insulting your cabbage dish this morning I just don't understand quality food very well everyone says so-"_

"You insulted my cabbage dish…?"

_"-and I know we're not on the best of terms but please take France instead he's richer and a lot fatter too I swear-"_

_"_...I am...not planning to eat you Англия..."

_"-and I'm sorry about taking that parasailing donkey from you last year but you must admit donkeys belong on the ground_-"

Well, Russia was bored with this. Taking three large strides, he stood in front of England and pressed his hand to the frightened nation's lips, effectively cutting of the frantic tirade.

Ah. Blessed silence.

And all his shaking was reminding Russia of sweet little Latvia, whom Russia had neglected to visit for a while. It made the large nation a bit nostalgic.

"Now, now, друг..." Russia attempted to comfort the island. The increased shivering was a good sign, да?

"I am not here to hurt you in any way. I actually need to ask you a favor."

England looked up, the fear in his eyes now marred with curiosity. "Yrph nphh tph ursph mh?"

"Yes." Russia replied easily. "it is regarding a personal matter."

England finally found the will power to step back, freeing his mouth from the confining hand. "Personal? You need my help on something personal?"

Russia smiled. "Да. If it is not to much trouble." the statement was said in a menacing tone.

However, England did not seem to notice the veiled threat. "Are you...actually coming to _me _for advice?"

Russia kept his smile in place, although he was getting a bit nervous. "Да...I think you would be able to assist me best-"

"Someone actually came to _me _for advice! Hahaha! Of course you would though, Russia, I am quite possibly the most intelligent being that ever walked this forsaken planet, and I am glad you've recognized it!" Russia watched horrified as the Briton's personality morphed into something quite terrifying. This was why only masochists associated with England.

"Well..." Russia replied, quickly re-thinking his whole strategy. Surely America would give in with a few more complimentary comments...

"What is it then?" England suddenly asked, pulling Russia by the arm and sitting him on the couch. "Is it political? Economical? Domestic? Are those even personal? Russia!" England looked meaningfully at his companion. "Is someone bullying you?"

Russia threw him a dirty look.

And England backtracked. "...Well, what is it then?" he repeated.

Russia sighed. He'd already come this far..."I was hoping...you could help me _attract _someone, because he is not being very cooperative-"

"_You want me to set you up?" _England looked positively ecstatic, and Russia inched away from him quickly. "You want _romantic _advice! Oh this is just so perfect, of course I'll help! Good on you, coming to me instead of that frog, who would have no doubt led you down the completely wrong direction!" England took a breath, and Russia considered bolting. "So who is it? Is it China? You two would make such a pretty picture, and he screams so nicely, I should know, and-oh, no, it's your big sister, isn't it, she's got some assets on her, you're a lucky man-"

"Comrade I would appreciate it if you did not-"

"No what am I thinking, it must be_ Canada_-"

"Who?"

"-with all your hockey culture or something, or I dunno, you both like snow ..."

"It is America." Russia interjected, elated that he managed to shut England up. Dear _God,_ he had forgotten that the modern Brit found conversation _endearing._

But England was quiet for a bit too long, and Russia nearly groaned in exasperation. Of course. England was probably in love with America. Russia should probably think these things more thouro-

"_Hahahahaha!'" _Russia blinked in surprise. England had an accented laugh. It was quite impressive, like the ability to live in the same house for hundreds of years without raising suspicion. "Oh _dear, _that's even better! Someone's got to beat that brat into submission!" Russia narrowed his eyes dangerously. England's grin dropped. "Not that...I'm accusing you of beating him or anything.."

"Look, will you tell me some things America enjoys, Англия, so that I may go and impress him with my amazing perception abilities? Or at least so I can get him something for his next birthday-oh do not look at me like that it is quite unbecoming-that he won't want to throw away in the nearest punch bowl?"

England looked a bit perturbed. "Russia…you're going about this completely wrong! You can't just…be _nicer! _Seduction is an art form! You have to create all sorts of serendipitous situations, get the right mood, the right state of mind-"

A potential issue quickly occurred to the Slavic man. "No alcohol." Russia interrupted.

England looked up, a bit confused. "What?"

"You heard me comrade, no alcohol. And no magic, either. If America is to like me, I want it to be of his own free will. And I know your methods, Англия. Let me reiterate. _No alcohol or magic."_

The look on England's face was crushed. Quite obviously, Russia's statement obliterated a quarter of the Briton's plans. Well good. Russia wasn't desperate or anything, so there was no reason to resort to England's more desperate plans.

Dear god, why was Russia even _letting_ England make plans? Wasn't this supposed to be more of a fact finding mission?

Well, the larger nation didn't have too much to lose. And without his magic or alcohol, England could prove to be a pretty rational man. Hopefully that extended over into the field of…

Romance?

Eck.

"Ok," England began again, enthusiasm slowly re-brightening his eyes, " No magic or alcohol. I guess we'll have to do this a little bit more traditionally."

"Traditionally?"

England smiled, and his crowded teeth gleamed. It scared Russia a little. Because the gesture seemed sort of familiar.

…

"So why exactly are you so invested in helping me, Англия? It is a bit of a surprise. I was not expecting so much from you."

It was noon on November 13th. Russia and England, recently dismissed for lunch along with their collogues, were waiting for a certain obnoxious American to come back into the building from his burger run. The two nations looked quite suspicious, both huddling together in broad daylight behind a large arched doorway. Many stopped to glance at them curiously, but quickly moved on; it was never good to garner attention from Russia or England.

"You don't believe it was out of the goodness of my heart?" Another dark look. "Your confidence in me is stifling, really."

"Англия…"

"I think you two would be good together." Russia faced the shorter man, but England kept his gaze straight ahead. "For, you know. Balancing purposes maybe. Or driving each other insane, and thereby leaving the rest of us out of it." Russia smiled a little. Maybe England's intentions were pure after all.

"Besides," England continued, a crooked grin growing on his face. "You would _look_very good together as well. Very sexy." Russia resisted the urge to beat the other blonde. Never mind about those pure intentions, then. Sometimes, being a pervert made England's decisions very easy.

"Here he comes!" England suddenly whispered, cutting off Russia's bloodthirsty thoughts. They both looked through the arched doorway, finding America, alone, with a relatively small stash of burgers accompanying him. Russia turned to England again.

"Are you sure this will work, Англия?"

"Of course." England moved to open the broom cupboard he was standing by. "No one can stay in a small space for long without resolving _some_ sort of sexual tension. Now hurry, stand here and act nonchalant."

Russia did so, and soon, America walked past the tall nation. He paused, and looked at his violet eyed enemy suspiciously.

They had no time to speak however, because England initiated his plan, and both nations were pushed into the tiny broom closet, door shut behind them. England locked them in and quickly ducked behind a wall, waiting for the tell-tale signs of…_resolved _sexual tension.

Inside, America started to struggle immediately. "What the hell was that? Is this your doing, you commie?"

Russia shrugged, the darkness obscuring his movements. "Why would I plan such a thing." Carefully, he pressed himself closer to the American, their hips _unintentionally _grinding together. He heard America gasp softly. "I see no benefits at all."

America started shifting again, causing the friction to build. Russia was glad he had forgone his usual woolen coat today.

"Then who the fuck-" Russia managed to push his thigh through America's legs, and pressed _up-_

"Perhaps you merely tripped into me again _Америка._'' Now they were touching almost everywhere, and Russia could feel America's hot breath on his neck. "You should watch where you are going from now on, да? Or I might get the wrong idea."

He felt America's hand move from it's stationary position at their side, felt it going upward, lightly brushing the Russians hip, up, up, until-

-Until it clenched up and broke through the flimsy wooden door of the closet.

Well. That pleasure was short-lived.

"Y-you don't have to worry about anything like that from me, commie." America said, breathlessly, before untangling himself from the awkward position and running in the direction of the conference room.

He forgot his burgers. Russia kicked them to the side. Good thing he dropped them before falling into the closet. They would have killed the mood for sure.

The mood. Russia groaned in frustration. Of course America could break through that door, the boy had super strength, for christsake! How could Russia forget such an important fact?

"Oops..." Russia turned, and found England, looking quite guilty.

"Oops?" Russia questioned. "How could you forget to consider that insignificant little _detail _in your master plan, человек?''

England shuffled around a bit uselessly. Then he perked up, small frown in place. "How could you?"

Russia blinked. And realized something terrible.

England's absent-mindedness was contagious.

"But don't get yourself down mate. I think I have a better plan anyway."

Somehow, Russia was far from reassured.

**...**

**AN: Muahaha. K, lemme think of what I wanted to say. Ok, first: the parasailing donkey thing is real, happened recently, although I'm not sure of the details. All I know is that there was a Russian parasailing donkey, and those damned Brits took the thing to safety.**

**Second: Now that I think about it, I might accidently interject prejudices about Russia, Britain, or France in this story that are not necissarily true. Please don't be insulted, I love all three of those countries. :3 And America too, of course, but I better get _those _stereotypes right...**

**Third: My bbflllzz told me England seemed OOC. I'll be honest, I don't think he's too bad, at least not according to canon!Hetalia. I mean, the guy throws flowers in people's faces to gain friendship. He's a bit of a dork.**

**Feedback is appreciated. C:**


	3. Chapter 3

**Took a while. Shouldn't do so again...**

**Probably HTML fail, but that's FF . net's fault, not mine. :)**

**... Ch. 3**

"America!" Canada was completely out of breath by the time his inconsiderate brother slowed his swift pace. "A-America, wait up!"

The nation in question did not stop. Sometimes, a man needed to have a private moment to himself in order to contemplate the current heat wave afflicting the Florida region. Goddamn that stupid Russian. Who trips people into closets anyway? And for what purpose?

Despite America's hurried steps, Canada finally managed to reach his brother, tripping over himself in the process. "Would you _mind-" _the Canadian wheezed, yanking on a suit covered arm. "-you said we'd go to lunch together, eh?"

"Oh." America kept walking, shrugging Canada's hand off his arm. "Well, see…I went to McDonald's."

"Dear God." Canada, now keeping in stride, rolled his violet eyes quite violently.

"Yeah." America continued. "And I got, like, the dozen cheeseburgers for us-"

"I don't like cheese." Canada grunted. He was ignored.

"-and the lady gave them to me real fast, so I was all cool and chillin' and stuff-"

"Look, America, this story better have a point, eh? I ditched Prussia for your ungrateful company, so if you would mind-"

"-_I was chillin' _but then I was in a closet and Russia was all up in my grill and I hated it only I kinda didn't and I can't find England and so I can't find France and there is _a heat wave in Florida, Canada, do you understand the ethical implications of this closet-"_

As America's spiel descended into vague metaphors involving closets and sexuality, Canada's eyes gradually widened and his steps slowed. What the fuck was Russia doing, lurking in a closet and waiting for an unsuspecting America to blindly waltz into his trap? Canada _knew_ the larger man was a heathen, despite his love for the polar ice-caps.

The northern nation let his brother walk ahead. It was exactly these sorts of mischievous intentions that Canada wished to protect America from. The taller bespectacled nation could rescue any damsel in distress. He could even protect his citizens, and therefore, his nation. And yet, America could not save himself. And it was Canada who ended up having to mend the broken pieces, the personal layer of America's shell. It was tiring, watching the one you loved break down, even if it was only every couple of centuries.

"-so technically if the gay man is-shit Canada, what are you doing back there like a creeper?" America had whirled around and was now staring at his baby brother strangely.

Canada shrugged. "Can't keep up with you, I suppose."

And America smiled And wrapped a friendly arm around Canada's shoulders.

And the younger nation remembered why it was all worth it.

…

"This is stupid, comrade." England glanced up angrily at Russia, dropping the salt shaker in the process.

"Comrade again, is it? What happened to the wave of the future?"

England and Russia were baking a cake. And so far, it was not going well.

Russia lifted his lolling head, shifting from his position on England's granite counter-top. The baking supplies were scattered throughout the kitchen in disarray. In the sink there were various pots with foul smelling substances burning through the metal. The remaining pots surrounded England as he frantically mashed together chocolate, eggs, and sweetened salt.

Russia resolved not to ask about that one.

" I may say comrade if I want." Russia hung his head again, entire posture slumping. "Besides, if I do not amuse myself somehow, I may end up strangling you with your obnoxiously red tie Англия, да?

"Oh, belt up." England huffed, accidentally adding tablespoons of unsweetened chocolate instead of teaspoons. His thick eyebrows were furrowed in frustration. "This plan will definitely work. All you have to do is play your part."

Russia's head perked up, although his face stayed sullen. "I will not say these things."

England realized his teaspoon mistake. His face twisted in anger. "You will. You're gagging for a shag, after all." The Brit dodged the fork that flew his way. "And besides. It isn't that hard to just read lines from a paper."

Russia raised a brow, then slipped a sheet of paper from his coat and unfolded it. He cleared his throat.

"Wow. What a ridiculous season the Chargers are having. I cannot believe such a great American football team has been having such trouble this year. England, I am so happy you and I follow American football so extensively. It would be quite shameful in anyone found out." Here, Russia paused to lift his hand to his forehead. Dramatically. "Oh, America! I did not notice you standing in such close proximity! Pray tell, do you too enjoy the frivolous game of American football? Blimey, the sight of overgrown men slamming into each other excites me too! Let us discuss it over a hot cup of disgusting coffee that you stupidly chose over tea because you are an idiot with no taste." Russia looked up from the shambolic scribbling, now glaring at the messy haired man across the room.

England added more eggs to his mixture. "Yes. Well. If he finds that you share common interests with him, he might be more willing to open up." One egg missed the bowl, and England's eyebrows twitched in suppressed rage.

"It is obvious you wrote it, Англия." Russia looked at the scripted text poignantly.

"What?" England asked, quite affronted. "It is not! It imitates your speech patterns quite-"

"When have you ever heard me use the expression 'Blimey', comrade?"

England began mixing with vigor. "Yes. Well." He knocked the salt shaker down. Again. "It's the concept that matters, in the end."

Russia sighed and finally slid off the counter, pocketing the abused script. "So to attract your friend I must act like something I most definitely am not, and then present a lethal cake for him to share with me?"

"For the last time Russia, the cake will be _bloody perfect!_" The dough was beginning to attain an unhealthy gray hue, and Russia decided to appease the tiny Brit. "Look. Everybody lies in the beginning of these sorts of things, alright? He has to stop hating your arse first. And the cake will just be an added bonus, from a 'secret admirer'. That way, at a later stage, you can reveal it was you in a flamboyant manner and America will scream 'oh darling I never knew!' and then-"

" I think I know how this story ends, thank you," Russia shut his eyes. The sad thing was, he could now predict how most of the island nation's ramblings ended. It hadn't even been two days.

"Good." England turned to face Russia now, sporting an apron stained with chocolate, and placing his elegant hands onto his slim hips. Oh Англия. If only you weren't so _strange. _"Then you will do as I say, and my plan will work perfectly. Don't even worry about it.

Russia stared at the cake mangled man. "…Erm."

…

_**Day 1 of England's Matchmaking Project, because that other day didn't count: **__**November 14, 2011**_

"Oh how delightful that Quarterback is." America turned at the sound of an accented voice behind him, and frowned. Quarterback? Why was someone talking about the names of his football positions?

"Erm, yes. Delightful indeed. You will have to explain the rules to me again though, Russia. I'm afraid I am rather incompetent when it comes to American football."

Dear God. America nearly gasped out loud. There, in front of Suite 89, in the gigantor office building in London, England, stood England himself, along with a Commie menace.

"Well, England, the Quarterback is the one who scored the touchdown in the last inning, da? With that running play? Therefore, it his thanks to his benevolence-"

"-brilliance!"

"-ah, yes, brilliance, that the, uh, team won. Да. Yes."

They were talking about football.

"Oh Russia, you make everything so simple to understand. Thank you for enlightening me about this fascinating topic."

Russia and England were talking about fucking _American football_ like they had an interest in it!

"Uh, da, Англия. I am very pleased to fist-"

"-assist-"

"-_assist _you and relieve you of your ignorance." Russia looked very physically pained, but America took no notice. "Now you know, little man, why the Chargers are the best team in any sport ever. Да. I mean. Yes." Дорогой Бог. Thankfully, nobody important was around to witness this failure. Russia desperately wanted to sink to the floor. Or at least 'bitch slap' England, whose calligraphy style handwriting was impossible to decipher at the best of times.

Also, at this point, England's script had ended, and America had not approached the duo with burning curiosity. Though he was staring at them. With what looked like concentration. Poor boy, he'd probably break his brain if he didn't stop thinking so extensively.

After a ten second awkward silence, England decided to remedy the situation. "Oh America. Look at you standing right there."

Thankfully, in his stupor, America did not notice England's suspicious monotone statement. But the Briton's deep voice did finally break the bespectacled nation from his trance.

"Russia! You-he-you-a Charger's fan? _Really?_" And he bumbled forward with incredulity. Russia and England spared a significant glance for each other before fully turning toward the American.

"Д-yes, America. Despite their off-season, I truly believe they can pull through and…well. Um. Win." Russia was aware that this was, perhaps, not his most shining moment in history. But England did not have to roll his eyes that dramatically, the little shit.

"Wow." America approached even closer. "I mean, wow. I can't believe you are interested in my sports-"

England began to smirk smugly, while Russia's feint hopes began to ignite-

"-and have managed to favor the _worst team in the season!_" Russia's ember's of hope were instantly extinguished, along with England's positive countenance. "_Oh my God,_ they just traded their best player, they haven't won in _ages, _and here you are, supporting them like a naïve schoolgirl with a dream!" America's obnoxious attitude returned with full force, the desire to mock brightening his blue eyes. "But what can I expect, losers have to stick together, eh commie?"

England's jaw dropped. But Russia was not phased. Unlike the island nation, Russia was well aware of America's talent for maliciousness and cruelty, even on petty subjects such as American football.

The heavily layered man smiled. Oh, this would not do.

"I suppose they must, comrade." Russia replied, now sneering. "I suppose that is why you support your president so willingly, da?"

At once, America's smile was gone, and Russia found himself avoiding a leg. Then an arm. Then a hamburger. Well that was an interesting weapon of choice.

"My president is no loser, you idiot commie!" Russia blocked a kick aimed for his stomach.

"Oh? And yet he has not bothered to teach you the finer points of _history_? Such as the dismemberment of the communistic metropolis of the Soviet Unio-" Talking so long was not wise when attempting to avoid a knee to the groin. "Hm. There is no excuse for your ignorance then."

"I am _not ignorant you retarded_-"

"Like OH MY GAWD! What a gorgeous cake!" Poland's girlish shriek interrupted Russia's counter attack as well as America's concentration. The "nineteen-year old" whirled around excitedly at the prospect of baked deliciousness.

"GORGEOUS CAKE!" the blonde wailed joyously, seemingly forgetting the Russian's hurtful remark.

Russia stared after the rambunctious teenager with a blank stare. Then he adjusted his scarf with as much dignity as a man stained with hamburger goo could. "Easily distracted, are you not, comrade…"

He fixed his coat.

Then his hair.

And finally, his eyes widened. _"Gorgeous _cake?"

He sped to the table where, by now, a quarter of the world had gathered. There, in a patriotic display of red, white, and blue, stood a fluffy and delicious-looking cake, complete with layers of fruit and frosting, as well as a message eloquently printed with crème: _For you, America; Your Happiness Makes Me Smile. _Nations stood around, cooing and wailing at America.

Russia whirled around, spotting England, and hurriedly pulled the shorter man closer. "There is no trace of your gray monstrosity. Who did you commission to do this."

England glared. "You bloody simpleton. I could have very well baked that cake. My talents are unsurpassed." Russia sighed and violently shook the frail body until England finally lashed out with a "Fine! I had bit of help alright!" When the shaking finally stopped, England gulped heavily. He directed his gaze toward the crowded table. Russia followed suit.

France looked back at them, and winked.

And Russia understood.

"I am afraid I shall have to kill you Англия."

"No-Russ-I didn't tell him _who _it was that needed help so _God don't hurt me-"_

…

America smiled brightly as Germany inspected the cake for rat poison and hidden bombs. Someone had been thinking of him! And for no particular reason, either. It made America feel warm inside, and as he watched Germany stick a metal rod through a strawberry, he felt he could finally dwell on this instead of that stupid Russian-

_Dammit! _America grimaced internally. Here was this beautiful cake (from an unidentifiable source that could potentially be a terrorist ploy according to Germany) with a beautiful message written on top, and all America could think about was the fact that Russia still called him and his President stupid?

The young nation subtly glanced behind him, looking for the offending Slav. Ah, there he was, charmingly shaking America's former brother figure into some sort of submission. Normally, America's hero senses would have kicked in. But England was a strong dude, despite his feminine screeches; he could take care of himself.

America's smile dropped a notch. As if Russia's condensation wasn't enough, England's behavior was becoming exceedingly…strange. Which was alarming, considering the guys usual attitude. America kinda needed this trend to stop, because at the end of this month there was that ridiculous nation's banquet and if England didn't agree to be his date then America would join the likes of Estonia and Ghana who attend parties alone _every single time, _what _losers…._

"It seems your cake is fine for consumption, America." Germany called America back from his terrifying musings. The bespectacled nation blinked, and looked at his gorgeous cake.

Erm. Well.

His once gorgeous cake.

"Ve~Germany…" Italy looked a bit put out. "It was a cake, not a villain…"

America forced a laugh. "Nah, it's all good. It's looks edible to me!" Germany nodded proudly, while Italy looked between them both with a horrified expression.

America turned away from the two. Why was England spending so much time with Russia anyway? Weren't they on bad terms or something? Wasn't England still mad at Russia for hosting the European Soccer Cup next year? Stuffing a (demolished) strawberry in his mouth, the blonde chanced a glance at the two Europeans again, only to see Russia smiling prettily (denying it would be futile, so America didn't dwell on this observation) and England flailing wildly. Blue eyes narrowed behind spectacles.

Well this simply would not do.

…

"We are just not producing enough food to sustain our populations as they double." Switzerland slammed his gun onto the table. "We're either going to have to double the amount of fields we use for agriculture, or double the amount we yield from existing acres."

"That's not the problem!" Ghana replied defiantly. "We're all starving because of your uneven, not to mention _selfish,_ distribution of what we already have!"

"It is not our responsibility to feed you, aru. If you cannot regulate your government, we cannot effectively help you." China was perked and alert, intermittently clutching at Russia's arm for support. The pale haired man bit his lip in agony.

"And whose fault is it we're so fucked up?" Nigeria jeered, whipping her head to glare at England.

And they were off. Russia fended off China's invasive fingernails and watched as the Africans across the table and the Europeans a few seats away rose in furious debate.

Business as usual now. Russia glanced at America, who for some unfathomable reason had decided to plant himself next to Russia, dragging England along with him. The younger man was staring intently at his notes in his lap. Russia nearly snorted. The pages were completely blank, of course.

Suddenly, America shifted his gaze, and Russia was once again staring into blue.

"Do you really like football?"

Russia blinked, slightly surprised at the question. "Well, yes. I am hosting the cup at my house next year-"

"_No, _you stupid-" America clenched his jaw shut. Then after a few deep breaths, he relaxed again. "I mean…do you really like _American _football."

Russia decided to concentrate on Ghana's face, rather than America's. Much safer. And at the moment, far more amusing. "Uh…да, I do. But like I said. My team is the Chargers. They are from San Diego, you know." It took all of Russia's manpower to prevent himself from slapping his own face. The stupid things that came out of his mouth sometimes….

America simply nodded however. "Oh." Shifting uncomfortably, he added "Well, you know. I really love my sport. So, if you really wanted to talk about it with someone-" he paused, waiting for Prussia's loud complaints to be silenced, then continued with "-that someone, can be…like me. Alright?" he cleared his throat painfully. "So you don't have to bother people like England with it anymore, yeah?" At this point, America had turned his head back toward the proceedings, also watching Ghana. The dark man performed some crazy gesticulations.

Standing perfectly still Russia inclined his head in agreement.

America nodded in acknowledgment.

And the two turned away from each other quickly, causing Russia to knock into China's knees.

As the Asian began to yell, Russia burrowed his head in his arms. If anyone asked, he would 'kolkolkol' them to death.

There was a poke at Russia's arm. The large man looked up, only to see a red faced America once again.

"Uh, England wanted me to give you this." America muttered, handing Russia a folded note, taking care not to touch the pale nations fingers. Russia claimed his prize, and the two awkwardly turned away again.

_This is ridiculous._ Russia mused. _I am behaving like Japan, and it is highly disturbing._

Searching for a distraction, the tall nation unfolded England's note.

_Russia,_

_Meet me tonight after this is all over. _

_-England_

_PS: That conversation you and America just had? Bleedin' adorable! See, that is just a sign my plan is working!_

China screamed in pain as Russia clenched the poor Asian man's arm.

For support purposes, you understand.

...

**No beta, so you understand if some parts are...**

**Very minimal amount of foreign language, so I don't think translations are needed. But if I'm wrong...**

**LOLGERMANY.  
**


	4. Chapter 4

**Yay no school! But work instead, then Uni. O life. n/e wayzzz.**

**...**

"Hey England!"

England continued gathering up the last of his notes. After China's mighty shout (and England had a suspicion about who was behind the cause of the extroverted reaction), the nations had figured it was time to go their separate ways for the day. It was a good choice, unless one enjoyed the inevitable bloodbath that occurred every time the damned word "imperialism" was mentioned.

"Uh, like, England?"

England frowned. He wasn't exactly sure what his ex-colonies expected him to do about their issues. Guilt-tripping wasn't working. While his people felt some sort of tentative responsibility toward the whole empirical mess, they were not the direct instigators of mercantilism, or conquests, or the pervading racism that England used to so deeply feel. And since his people could not feel the direct wrongness of their actions, neither could their national personification. The thick-browed nation sighed. Only twenty-eight days of crazy philosophical arguments left.

"Are you not replying on purpose?"

He was so looking forward to the rest of the month.

"Or are you totally deaf? I have been speaking to yo-"

"_Poland_!" England slammed the last of his papers in his suit case, and whirled around. "Couldn't you tell I was contemplating something deep?"

The effeminate Eastern European country rolled his eyes, and finally sashayed over to the island nation, pushing over most of the abandoned paperwork on his way. England watched with partial disgust as Poland, one hand brushing through sleek blonde hair, managed to disorganize Germany's pristine agenda for the next day with the other.

"Oh please," Poland narrowed his dark green eyes. "You haven't been deep since, like, Jane Austen."

"Was there any point to destroying all of tomorrows pre-planned paperwork?"

"I noticed you've been just with like Russia all the time. Like, all the time." England stared at the ditzy* blonde and considered his over-exaggeration.

"…Not really."

"Yes you have." Poland puckered his lips. "Obviously, this has me concerned. Considering how many of my people are for some totally retarded reason going to _your _country, I think it's in my best interest to keep you from getting punched in the balls, yeah?"

England took his suitcase in hand. "I think I can handle myself this time around, thanks."

"Uh, that's like what I thought! I thought I could take him on, and totally win too! But then I just got raped in the ass, ok?"

The two stared at each other with intensity, albeit for completely different reasons.

Then Poland reddened.

"Ugh…metaphorically, of course…"

"Poland it was nice speaking to you really but-"

"England WAIT!" Poland grabbed England's arm and spun the younger** man around, effectively stopping his getaway.

"Listen, I know our personal relationship hasn't been great since you acted like a douche bag all the time because you're jealous that I'm prettier than you-"

"Hey I really have to go, I have a meeting I can't miss-"

"but come on, you're not THAT ugly, and actually quite a few of us were into you at some point, and you know what England maybe some of us still are-"

"-really have to go, it's bad manners to be late-"

"-so please, have some respect for yourself, and DON'T give into Russia just because you're insecure about your face and personality and cooking-"

"_My cooking-" _The shorter haired nation stopped. And breathed.

Then tried again.

"I appreciate your concern for my mental health." In. "But you really don't know what you're talking about." Out. "Russia is a perfect gentleman. To me. Right now."

Poland opened his mouth to protest.

"Besides, Russia doesn't want me to 'give into him', or 'become one' or whatever else you've come up with…he just…he needs some help."

Poland's mouth continued to hang open.

England shifted uncomfortably. "I mean…I want to help him." He sidestepped Poland.

And he started walking away, suitcase in hand. He attempted to avoid all the paper that had preciously been knocked to the floor. Damn Poland and his weird eccentricities, anyway. Knocking agendas to the floor. Germany was going to have a fit tomorrow. And instead of discussing bio-degradable waste, they would discuss the importance of filing an proper placement, and it wouldn't even be worth it, because Poland never said what possessed him to destroy the order of the conference table in the first place…

"England."

England huffed and continued walking.

"…Is this…"

He was almost to his exit…

"…is it about America?"

England had one hand on the door handle. He really did. There it was, framing the way to the exit. All he had to do was turn his poised hand, and he'd be free.

He let it drop.

…...

When he heard the knock on the door, he figured he could ignore it and whoever was outside would get the hint and _go away. _

Russia snuggled deeper into his blanket, curling his toes beneath the soft material and willing the knocking noise away. Instead, he listened to England's television programming, and marveled at British precision when it came to filming nature shows. There had been one on every day Russia had been in this hotel, and unfortunately, he had never had the opportunity to view one before.

The knocking persisted louder, and Russia bundled further within himself. Watching this delightful program on the dangers of whaling was far more amusing than spending time with anyone. Whether that person be Belarus, with her manic glances, or England, with his narrow perspective, or even America, with his damned oblivion…

The door was now thundering, and even Russia could not pretend it was not bothering him. He clenched his teeth and flung the blanket off himself, and stomped to the door, ready to slay someone alive.

He flung the contraption open

Then he saw black.

…...

"Was this really the only solution you could come up with? I told you to get him, not to bludgeon him to oblivion!" England ran his fingers through his choppy blonde locks for the millionth time that night. "Bloody hell, I didn't figure you were _all _simpletons!"

He turned and glared at his shamefaced visitors. Beside Russia (who was splayed out on England's vast couch) sat Ukraine, who was petting her brothers hair with affection, ignoring England's pointed glare. Next to her sat Belarus, who was looking very pretty and proper with her black headband and her cold eyes and her emanating murderous vibes.

Behind the couch stood Bulgaria, who also ignored England, and occasionally attempted to mess with Russia's face somehow, but was thwarted by Ukraine's angry pout every time. Beside him Estonia leaned on his elder counterpart, trying hard to ignore Bulgaria's efforts in the face of England's righteous anger. He occasionally cracked in his serious facade and giggled, and was promptly elbowed in the ankles by both Latvia and Lithuania, who were sitting cross-legged on the floor and looking extremely nervous to be facing the irate island nation.

It was England's last two guests that finally replied to him "He wasn't coming by himself, was he?" Hungary scoffed. "Despite promising you to meet up, he stayed in his hotel room like a little girl. How else do you expect us to get such an overgrown baby to cooperate?"

"It's like, only for his own good anyway." Poland added from his perch on Hungary's armchair. "He's a strong bully, okay, what's a little bat to the head for someone of that stature?"

England rubbed his temples in frustration. "Oh I don't know. I guess it was unrealistic for me to assume that when you offered me help, it would actually be, I dunno, helpful? But I suppose trusting Russia's closest friends was _my _mistake."

"Damn straight." Bulgaria retorted.

England fumed, but before he could reply, Russia finally stirred from his abuse-induced slumber. Ukraine and Belarus immediately perked up, while Bulgaria and Estonia jumped away from the couch they were previously violating. As Russia shook the sleep from his eyes, Hungary and Poland began to smirk.

"Hey there, you big oaf." Hungary began, lazily sliding off her chair. Belarus pointedly glared at her, and England groaned.

"Can we not goad each other, please?"

Russia sat up with the support of his sisters. "Англия…" the taller nation groaned, attempting to make sense of his whirling surroundings. "Wh-what…what am I doing here?" He paused. "And why are the rest of them here?" His eyes widened. "Have you told them also of our endeavors? Despite the fact that I wished to keep this secretive?" England gulped, attempting to shrug off the 'kolkolkol" chant now emanating from his Russian guest.

"Th-they found out by themselves!" England stuttered, throwing his fellow nations under the bus. "I swear, and they wished to help you, despite your messy history!"

Russia still looked murderous.

Lithuania decided to take pity. "Mr. Russia, I know we have not always got along." the brown haired man stood up and approached his old tyrant. "And I know that it is hard to trust our motives, especially after what we have been through." He smiled wanly. "I suppose that is why you did not come to us with this problem in the first place."

"And why you became desperate enough to seek this asshole's assistance." Bulgaria scoffed, thumbing over to England, who at this point was almost comatose from the negative emotions fleeting through his body.

Lithuania cleared his throat. "But we know you. And believe it or not, we like you." Hungary coughed in protest, but Lithuania ignored her. "We just want to see you happy."

"Bullshit!" called Bulgaria. "I just want him to get with someone far away, so he doesn't bother me again!"

"I just like, want you to leave Liet alone, alright?"

"I'm just in this for the hot yaoi."

As they continued their protests, Russia slowly lost his murderous glare and stared amusedly at their reactions. Oh, their attempts to hide their affection for him was so adorable! How could he ever wish to keep his affairs a secret from his dear comrades! Oh what merriment!

Except for one.

Russia frowned when he spotted his little sister on the edge of England's couch. She was the only one not rising up in violent protest for one reason or another. He stood up, taking care not to trip over his own feet from the sudden vertigo, and made his way over to her, nervously.

"Беларусь?" he called softly. "Cестра моя ?"

She looked up at him, and smiled dimly. Russia took her smaller hand into his, clutching it firmly.

"You are okay to help me? Have they forced you?"

Her smile broadened, as much as it ever had, and she squeezed her brother's hand in return. "I only wish the best for you, brother." she looked at her feet, ignoring the silence that now loomed in the room. "And if you feel that I am not it, I suppose I can step aside."

Russia's eyes widened in surprise, and his smile grew in pleasure.

Hungary nearly threw up at the sight.

"Okay, this is adorable and all, but now that these issues are out of the way, can we please get back to the problem at hand?" She turned to their host. "England, do you care to expla-" she stopped when she caught sight of England wiping at his eyes conspicuously and sniffling at the scene before him.

"Th-that was such a selfless show of sibling adoration…" the thick browed man bumbled before sobbing again at the purity of Belarus' love. Hungary let her jaw hang open. "I've never seen something so beautiful!"

Belarus stood, still holding her brothers hand. "Now, we are prepared to help you land that capitalist pig." she said determinately, despite the residual hurt lurking in her eyes.

Russia smiled childishly at his beloved sister, then looked around to the rest of his comrades.

"Thank you all, then. I believe-"

"Yeah, yeah." Poland waved off Russia's comment, officially sick of the sap-fest this lovely reunion had deteriorated into. And seeing as their host was still incapacitated due to manly tears, and Hungary was too busy freezing in shock, the Slavic nation figured it was his job to get things back on track. "So anyway, we've all agreed that we need to spruce you up a bit. You know." He waved his hands. "American flair and all."

Russia raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

Poland continued. "We figure we should start…." he approached the large nation, and fisted his coat. "-with _this_!" He ripped the large coat open, revealing the plain and shapeless button up and unflattering trousers underneath.

Russia looked down, frowning. "My clothes?"

"It's one of the easier solutions." Bulgaria called, walking over to a now completely emotionally consumed England. "After all, believe it or not…" the Bulgarian wrapped his arm around England's waist, causing the island nation to attempt to stifle his tears.

Then the brunette turned to Russia. "London is one of the fashion capitols in the world."

And suddenly, any good feelings Russia had about these people evaporated when they began to claw at him with scissors and tape measure and something that vaguely resembled a spiked choker.

…...

***-just to clear up, that's England's opinion of Poland, not mine. And he shouldn't talk, he's had some blonde moments himself...**

****-I /think/ Poland is an older country than England. At least that's what I was taught. If not, blame it on Eastern European lies...**

**Quick Russian translation!**

**Беларусь-Belarus  
****Cестра моя-my sister (literally sister of mine or something like that)  
...**

**Anyway, a few random notes. I probably effed up most of these country's personalities, because I don't read them often and I certainly don't write them. I'm most concerned w/ Belarus, but to be fair, I don't buy most one-dimensional portayals of her. I think, if she's truly in love with Russia, she'd find it in her heart to let him go. Isn't that the true sign of love or w/e? I don't even know. Plus, Russia also cares for her, in a sibling kinda way, from what I've seen in the anime. So that's that.**

**Also, though it won't be a major part of this story, I ship Liet/Belarus hardcore, just as a warning. .**

**ALSO, despite the tiny mention of a studded choker (England's addition, surely), I have no intention of turning Russia into a punk. That works for England, and no one else. But I'm not sure how to sexify him. All I've got is bellydancer lolz. We shall see.**

**AND BEFORE I FORGET. England's internal musings in the beginning are just my headcannon as to why nations are quick to forgive and forget (for the most part) and aren't lauded with guilt every time they look at someone they've wronged. For instance, despite being American, I don't feel personally responsible for the way Americans treated Native Americans in the past. Obviously, it's something greatfully shameful, but still, its history. I know this fandom is generally tolerant of these kinds of issues, but then again I'm never really very perceptive about whats insulting and whats not.**

**Wow, long authors note is long. Thanks to all you guys for feedback, but especially MelodyOfSunshine (might have possibly got that name wrong), you're a total sweetie! ;)**

**Also, any mention of Germany makes me happy, because he's hilarious, and it's the reason for Poland's random actions, that is all.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Thanks for faves and reviews and alerts guys!**

Ch.5

Several hours of hair pulling, trouser dropping, shirt ripping and eyeliner throwing later, England fell onto his living room couch, exhausted. Despite being a supposedly 'fashion forward' nation, he had not had much say in the plans Poland, Hungary, and surprisingly Latvia had set up for the former Soviet nation. The process had taken most of England's energy anyway (he could practically feel his renewable energy sources depleting at the thought), and his nerves were absolutely shot. They had finally finished at around 3 o'clock in the morning, and England, feeling strangely benevolent, had let his guests pass out wherever they wished in his house to slumber peacefully.

But, of course, it would be much too convenient for England if _all _his guests calmly passed out and didn't bother him for the rest of the night. He noticed this problem quickly, for as Lithuania fell over, taking Latvia and Estonia with him, and as Hungary and Poland crumbled in a pile together, and as Bulgaria began cuddling against an unconscious Ukraine and a subdued Belarus, Russia stayed upright, eyes wide, at the foot of England's couch, looming, and looking like a general pest. England couldn't just leave him there to stand as everyone slept on.

His Russian eyes were too damn creepy.

So England sat up, despite the fact that he had just collapsed out of sheer exhaustion, and tried very hard to care about why Russia's face looked so paralyzed.

"So…er…" the socially awkward nation began, "I-I know we all sort of ripped your trousers off then forced you into new ones and then clawed at your head with combs and straighteners and what not, and…and then we…all sort of went to sleep…" he looked again at the guests that littered his floor, all whom had been cackling and talking all night, but then conveniently passing out the moment they had to make conversation with Russia, the bastards- "…but erm…" he dared to look into the taller man's eyes. "…do you like it?"

Russia turned from his place at the foot of the couch to look at the makeshift mirror Poland and Hungary had dragged in. He tugged on his form-fitting t-shirt and he pulled at his washed out jeans, missing the warmth of his old scarf and the weight of his heavy coat.

"…I don't think I do, Англия." Russia finally replied, for despite the darkness in the room, he could clearly see the outline of a man that could not possibly be him. "It looks as fake as our conversation sounded when this mess first started."

England frowned at the answer. "It's not fake, Russia." The British nation pulled himself upright, approaching his counterpart slowly, suppressing the shiver he got every time he neared the intimidating man. "It's just…different."

"It's not what I normally wear, and it's not something I appreciate looking at."

"Well, it's not really supposed to garner _your _appreciation, is it?"

Russia drew his brows together, and turned to look England in the face. "I do not want him to like this fake person you're turning me into, Англия. If he, and you, now that I understand you better, cannot be with somebody if they are not conventionally beautiful or conventionally interesting then there really is no point in me pursuing relations with either of you." he turned again, focusing his eyes on his styled hair, so unlike what he was used to. Russia, despite the fact that his youth culture was being engulfed by Western stars, took no pleasure in the Americanized styles that had swept across Europe in the last few decades.

England stood up and stood in front of Russia, blocking his view of the reflection in front of him. His eyebrows had become one giant caterpillar and despite the ominous mood, Russia had to fight not to laugh. He had always dismissed the rest of Europe when they made fun of England's eyebrows, and yet…

"I never thought you'd take clothes so seriously, Russia." England rolled his eyes dramatically. "Dressing differently doesn't make you a fundamentally changed person, so you'd best get off your high horse and suck it up."

Russia widened his eyes at England, surprised, and unintentionally exuded an intimidating vibe that served to drain the color from England's face. Still, the Brit swallowed heavily and stared down the larger man.

"And the stupid subjects you force me to discuss with you when we're around him?"

"Admittedly, it was probably not the best idea to debate football stats with him when neither of us have any clue as to their significance. But our only aim right now is to stop him from being hostile, alright? Hence relatable topics of discussion." England broke his stare, and turned to look at Ukraine and Bulgaria, who were both obviously faking sleep at this point. Cowards. "And as for dress up…Poland thought it was a good idea if you showed that you can be sexy or some bollocks like that."

Russia kept looking at England, letting his intimidating vibes wane.

"Besides," England continued, now choosing to sit by Russia, rather than towering over him, "you told me what you wanted is for him to be attracted to you, yes? So who cares if you're being superficial about it? Mere attraction requires no deeper meaning."

Russia blinked at that.

"Yes…" he replied slowly. "…Who cares." And with that, he stood and walked toward the doorway, leaving England to ponder if he had said something wrong.

…

Canada was annoyed.

He was on time for a meeting, for the first time in the history of modern globalization. He was here, and he was prepared, and he hadn't even snuck Kimajouri inside, all in an effort to do his part and helpfully contribute to this summit, in which the object of discussion was something he cared about.

So, of course, it would be at this meeting that the nations arrive and find that the perfectly arranged meeting room from last night had disappeared, and in its place, stood a room which looked like it had been defiled by a bitter and immature child.

"_Who did this?" _Germany roared, eyes bulging at the sight of the agenda's on the floor. Italy attempted to put a comforting hand on his shoulder, but was instantaneously shrugged off and ignored. "Admit your folly and perhaps I may be swayed to not punish you!" Germany rounded on the present nations.

"Aw, yeah?" America, who was unfortunately standing next to Canada, jeered, "Punish us? You and what army, Hasselhoff?"

"_So you admit it was you-_" Germany accused, and the whole room erupted in argument again. Canada clutched at his USB containing various cases for the preservation of polar bear habitats, and seethed.

The only time. _The only time. _

America was laughing heartily at Germany's temper tantrum, and it was making Canada's pre-emptive headache worse.

"Can you move away from me if you're going to be so obnoxious? Please?"

America waved his hand carelessly. "There's no one else for me to bother right now, dude!" The superpower grinned cheekily, then turned back to the commotion he had partially caused.

Canada frowned. America was right. It also figured that on the day when he would be making a riveting speech regarding his beloved polar bears, England had decided to be late. Not only had he decided to be late, but Canada was _sure _his former guardian was responsible for the delays of some other Eastern European countries. Meaning that even if they relocated to a clean room, and even if they managed to organize themselves well enough to make do without the agendas, they _still _wouldn't be able to start, because despite being politically irrelevant, England still managed to demand enough respect to be waited on.

Well, whatever. England's people set things on fire when they were unhappy. There was nothing to be jealous of.

"Hey Canada, you don't see Russia in this mess, do you?"

Canada widened his eyes, before looking round to face his bespectacled 'brother'.

"…What?"

"Yeah," America continued, "I mean, he's usually here before us. It's kinda strange that he's not. Right?" He noticed the bewildered look Canada was giving. "I mean, it's suspicious! Like, what if he's out on the streets of London right now, commie-fying the place up? Poor England can't handle that shit! Besides, I'm pretty sure Russia fucked this room up, and I sorta wanna catch him out on it-"

As America continued to prattle on, Canada allowed his eyes to shrivel to normal size. Why the fuck was this happening to him?

Why was America talking about Russia? Again?

No. That was it. Canada stood by America when America attempted to get into Japan's pants, when he not-so-accidentally groped Ukraine, and when he developed a death wish and pursued Belarus (which he only stopped because Lithuania invoked 'bro-code' and cried until America felt sorry enough to stop stealing his terrifying woman). Canada sat through America's short lived relationship with Romano, and he put up with every broken-hearted speech America had ever made about England _ever. _But that was it. Canada was absolutely sure he could take better care of America than any of these nations, especially _Russia_, who was a brute and a maniac, and Christ, how low was America _sinking_?

"Hey America." Canada interrupted, cutting off America's speech on rocket ships and evil Russian space dogs. "I was wondering, are you doing anything today? After this glorious meeting, of course."

America raised an eyebrow. "Uh, probably seeing the new Twilight movie. Why?"

Perfect! For once everything would be perfect and wouldn't even matter if Canada couldn't dazzle anyone with his 'save the polar bears' slide show because America was going to be charmed by Canada in a movie theatre playing the most romantic trash the western world could come up with!

"C-can I come with you?" _Nice stutter there, Canada. Real classy shit._

America let his eyebrow fall and smiled a bit, which made Canada work quite tirelessly to repress a blush. "Well, I mean, I guess if you want-"

"_Finally_ you are here, England! Are the rest of them with you? I expected better behaviour from you all for Gott's sake!" America's small smile grew to a smirky grin at the sound of the angry German voice, and he whirled around, ready to laugh at England because for once _he _was late (and in doing this, America completely missed Canada's falling expression as the Northerner resigned to invisibility yet again).

"Hey, England! England! What was that you were always telling me about-" America cut himself off, then he let his cocky grin die. And he allowed his eyes to widen.

Because behind suited up, petite, and raging England, there stood a man. A beautiful man. A beautiful man who had always been beautiful but was sort of hiding it and now he wasn't and-fuck.

_Fuck._

_...  
_

__**lol Germany and Poland. Also, I suck at updating. I _will _get better one day, I swear...  
**


	6. Chapter 7

Russia was naked.

He wasn't wearing a shirt. Or pants. Or anything even resembling pants. Nothing on his (perfectly sculpted, amazingly chiseled _bloody hell England stop looking_) body was covered by anything remotely pant-like. No trousers either, of course, but that was a given.

He was wearing his scarf though. England supposed that should count for something.

Naked Russia stood there, in the Tube, looking to all of London like his normal, cheery self. Only he was naked, so perhaps not quite as normal as one would initially think. He had kept his hair straight, and he had failed to completely wash off the "subtle" (_it _is _subtle, England, like, you wouldn't know subtle if it bit off your gigantic eyebrows so shut up, kay?) _eyeliner Poland had painstakingly lined his lids with, but those were the only noticeable efforts of England and co's meticulous make-over. The clothes, the shoes, the products-all gone. By the time everyone had awoken, Russia had fled England's house, and England, Poland, and Ukraine had only found him when everyone else had given up searching. They ran into the larger man when England ushered his cohorts into a cramped London underground. Which Russia was also on. Looking totally normal.

Except for the naked thing. But that was a given.

Everyone was shocked for a while. But Poland snapped out of it the quickest. And immediately proceeded to yell at Russia about what a brute he was, destroying an Armani shirt like that. Ukraine agreed, but she did not yell, for she had a sense of preservation; however, she did implore earnestly about why Russia did not like the trousers she had chosen for him, because they had been a particularly nice shade of blue. England, meanwhile, was distracted by Russia's enormous cock. The Tube ride continued this way until the trio-plus-naked-bloke reached their destination. The meeting was due to start any moment and Russia would not stand for being late. England would have agreed, had he managed to look away from Russia's endowments for long enough. Quite obviously, he didn't.

So, everyone agreed that Russia had forsaken his friends' help and would be spending the very professional meeting time with only a scarf on.

Once all of them on the lift, England managed to tear his eyes from Russia's legs long enough to get angry.

"You realise we spent the whole night trying to help you, right?" he asked, making sure to stare straight ahead, lest he do something he would later regret. "All bloody night?"

"You should listen more, England." Russia scoffed.

And England whirled around, his eyes wild with rage. "And _you _should be clearer about what you want. You wanted to be fucking attractive to him, and by god, we made you into something he would fuck. But if you wanted him to _love _you?" The elevator dinged, and England turned again to face the doors. "You're not letting saying anything for me to listen to, Russia." And he stormed out. Leaving Russia wide-eyed, and confused.

And Ukraine and Poland just stood there ignored as usual.

...

And so, Russia entered the conference room, ignoring the yelling that was already commencing (was England in trouble already? He had not even been at the meeting long enough to shit talk the EU), not quite as confident as he had been that morning. England's (figurative) dressing down had gotten to him a bit. But what did England know. When Russia first came to him for help, England had cried and yelled about cabbage.

"_Russia._" A voice interrupted Russia's musings. It sounded German and angry. It was a familiar sound. "Russia please explain your inability to_ dress yourself."_

Russia noticed (far too late) that the yelling had died down, and now all of the nations of the world were staring at his naked body (with the exception of Poland, Lithuania, and Ukraine, who had seen him in this state enough to never be bothered again, and England, who was trying to look angry but looked pouty instead). Well, it was better than if they had stared at him in skinny jeans. _That _was mortifying.

"I feel that since we have not orchestrated a formal dress code, I may wear whatever I please, Germany." Russia said, trying hard not to look murderous. Or cheerful. Or neutral. Any facial expression he made tended to be interpreted as _I will kill you with vodka and diseased Russian babies, comrade._

"He's right, there never was a code." America said, surprising Russia. "We still have our freedom of expression, don't we Germany? Or are you going to Nazi that away, too?"

"Nazi isn't a verb, America." England said, before Germany exploded.

"_Get into your seats _before I call every single world leader and explain to them that nations are actual_ children!" _Germany's bellow shook the windows of the conference room, and even Russia, who normally scoffed at Germany's attempt to be controlling, was intimidated. He walked to the nearest chair.

"NO!" Germany shouted, pointing at Russia. "YOU WILL NOT PUT YOUR NAKED BODY ON OUR SANITIZED OFFICE FURNITURE. GO GET A TOWEL." Then, Germany rounded on Poland. "AND I KNOW IT WAS YOU WHO DESTROYED THE ROOM. CONGRATULATIONS, YOU HAVE RECEIVED THE HIGH HONOR OF PAYING FOR THE _NEW_ ROOM I HAVE SET UP."

...

The rest of the meeting ran with awkward fluidity. Russia graciously yielded his speaking time to China, who once again began harassing the world about pandas. While China shouted passionately, Russia noticed that the guy between America and England was making a bit of a ruckus.

"_It isn't fair,_" Teddy Bear Man was saying. "It was my turn to speak today; it wasn't even Russia's time to yield!" All this was said in an impassioned whisper. Russia got the impression that it was actually a loud tone of voice for the weak-looking country.

"Oh, do be quiet, Canada." England said, not making quite as much effort to be silent. Thankfully, China's screeches drowned him out. "Nobody likes a mewling wanker."

"What England is trying to say, in his own special way," America added, his eyes drooping with boredom, "is shut the fuck up."

"Why are you two never supportive of me?!" Canada whispered heatedly. "You went on and on about eagles and _squirrels _of all things, but I don't get a chance to protect what's dear to me?"

"Frankly, we were all surprised you showed up on time." England said, obviously still in a foul mood from that morning. Russia smiled a bit. He was happy that he was making more friends. Russia could be a cold and lonely place without friends.

"We kinda wrote you off as a goner, dude, England's right. Can you blame us?" America gave up all pretenses of listening to China, and took out his phone. "When did you say the Dr. Who special was airing again, England?"

"You are _horrendous._" Canada said, glaring at his friends. "Both of you." And it was one of those moments, Russia had to laugh.

So he did. Quite loudly.

In fact, he laughed quite a bit louder than he had expected, drowning out even China's ill at-ease justification about why he was building more hazardous factories. It had been a while since he had laughed at the expense of someone else, and it felt as good as he remembered.

"Russia, have you no sense of shame or respect?" Germany questioned angrily. Russia shrugged, still laughing, and ignoring the glares of most of the room. He pointedly ignored Canada's glare, because it pissed the North American nation off even more.

But he caught sight of England and America. America was grinning, eyes shining, looking ready to join in with Russia's bellowing laughter. He looked alive and wild and _beautiful-_

And England was next to him. England, who was still mad that Russia was not honest with his intentions. England, who had spent more time with Russia in the past week than most do in a year. Who begrudgingly let the corner of his lips curl into a smile, and who was going to forgive Russia, in a way nobody ever had.

And Russia didn't know how to feel about that.

...

It took something extraordinary to make Canada angry.

America had taken advantage of, hit, spit on, made fun of, laughed at, laughed _deliriously _at, ignored, viciously ignored, normally ignored, discredited, and undermined Canada for _decades_ before Canada had snapped and called America fat. Overall, calling his brother fat was nothing in comparison to being bullied and ignored for so many years, so it made Canada even angrier when America had played the pity card, and had gotten many of the nations to go comfort him. No one but England comforted Canada, and England did it by mistake most of the time.

But Russia was infuriating Canada. At a much quicker rate than either England or America ever had.

"I am simply finding something amusing, Germany." Russia said, with England and America guffawing in the background. Canada knew exactly what Russia found _amusing_. And it wasn't goddamn funny.

"Why don't you have some respect for this council, Russia." Canada said, suddenly. "We all realise that you're not physically capable of letting empathy into your cold dreary heart, but you can at least _pretend_ to be a professional."

The room was silent.

It was the most Canada had said to a country that wasn't in his immediate circle. And it was certainly the most he had said to Russia, ever. Ever. _Ever. _

And it felt sort of good.

Canada sat down again (for he had stood up for his outburst, just to complete the dramatic tone of his plea), and calmly began to shuffle his papers around. Beside him, America and England gawked, horrified. Well good. Canada was not someone to be made fun of, despite England and America's constant attempts at it.

"Yes." Germany said, breaking the prevalent silence. "Well. Ja. I am in agreement with...er," Canada watched as Germany struggled to remember his name, "…yes, indeed." Good save, Germany. "Russia, your conduct has been deplorable today, and it cannot be accepted. Despite how ridiculous we usually act, this is a federally funded meeting, and we are wasting money and time laughing and not getting anything done. I am going to have to ask you to leave." Germany cleared his throat. "In addition, everyone's presentation time will be cut short by 15.6 seconds to make-up for time lost."

Russia looked a bit stunned, and a bit angry. It made Canada warm and fuzzy inside. But Russia ended up smiling, like he always did when he wanted to commit genocide, and said "I understand. Pardon my intrusion," instead. And he stood up. And he left.

Canada pointedly did not look at his ass, though England and America were shameless.

"Erm, shall I continue?" China asked.

"I believe it was my turn, was in not, Germany?" Canada asked, smirking coolly. America looked back at him with a confounded expression. England was still staring at Russia.

"I'm sorry, but only nations may present in this conference." Germany said, and motioned for China to continue.

Canada was going to pop a vein. Especially when America texted him _trolololololololol!_

…

"What was that in there?" America asked, after the meeting had braked for lunch.

"Indeed." England said. "I feel like you suddenly developed a backbone. A mild one, mind you, but one nonetheless."

"Aw man, England don't put him down now! You're the reason he's always had shyness issues in the first place, don't destroy his progress!"

"_For your information," _Canada broke in, sensing a fight between the two idiots coming on, "I am not just developing a backbone. I have always had one."

England rolled his eyes.

"Stop lying to me Canada."

"I am not lying, Eng-"

"You are, Canada. If you had a backbone you would've punched him already." America said, looking bored with his two companions. "B-T-dubs, I am kind of pissed at you, bro."

Canada frowned. "Because of Russia?"

"Dude! Of course because of Russia!" America exclaimed, looking like that was the most obvious answer in the world. "He showed up naked, Canada. Naked. That is fucking hilarious."

"It was inappropriate." Canada replied.

"It was a bit inappropriate." England echoed, looking contemplative.

"It was funny too, though, and one does anything for the lulz!" America shot back.

England nodded. "One does do anything for the lulz…"

"You don't even know what lulz are, England." Canada said. "And since when do you approve of anything Russia does, America? I thought he was a communist murder machine intent on stealing your virginity?"

England choked on air. "You're still a virgin?!"

"No!" America replied testily. "And shut up, Canada! Anything for the lulz! _Anything!"_

Canada furrowed his brows.

And England decided to abandon his two awkward former colonies in favor of France and Prussia. The two would undoubtedly try to dunk England into a fountain again, but at least they wouldn't shout as much.

….

"So, what's wrong with you, fatty." China asked pleasantly, sitting on a bench next to Russia. It was a warm (a rare affair in London) afternoon, and Russia, after being humiliated by a man who still carried around a stuffed bear, had decided to indulge in it, and had slayed himself across a park bench in one of England's many vast parks. He had to hand it to the British people, nudity did not scare them. Some of the older ladies even came and flirted with him a bit, which was very endearing and even flattering. Russia liked England's old women. They were sassy and had not yet given up on life and humanity. They had the fighting spirit. It was a good thing to keep in mind for imminent take-over of the United Kingdom.

It had been a tranquil way to spend an afternoon. That is, until China showed up. The truth was, that while China was indeed Russia's best friend, it didn't stop him from being one annoying fuck sometimes.

"Do you not hear me? Why do you eat so much cabbage? It makes you fat."

"Cabbage doesn't make you fat, China." Russia said, regretting the fact that he sat up on his bench twenty minutes ago, thereby leaving room for China to sit next to him. "Cabbage is healthy. It's better than dumplings, anyway."

A pause.

"Let's not fight, friend." China said, knowing that he would quickly be defeated in this war. "Instead let us talk about why you are naked on a bench."

Russia frowned, but in reality, he only pouted. "None of your business China."

China shifted closer. "Oh no, now, we don't want to act like surly child, do we, fatty?"

"Stop it China." Russia replied, fear trickling into his voice.

"No. Now is not time for stopping." China said, shifting even closer. "Tell me, why did we decide to come to work naked, ally."

"W-I-I did-_don't scratch me fuck!_" Russia hated that China felt that their friendship entitled him to scratch at Russia's arms without consequence. And China wondered why he had no friends.

"_Why do we go around in the nude Russia, explain to your ignorant Chinese ally."_

"I was trying to prove a point! You have caught me! I have acted foolish! Stupider than fat capitalist pig America! Now for fuck's sake _stop scratching._"

China leaned back. "Now, are you not pleased you have friends to talk to, Russia?"

Russia pawed at his now bleeding arm. Goddamn Asian nails were like knives, goddamn.

"…I suppose I should thank you for making me see that my actions were idiotic." China nodded sagely.

"You are quite welcome, fat friend. Remember, we are well put together and rational, unlike those Western hippies. I am quite surprised that you felt this was any sort of solution to your sad pathetic love life."

"How did you know—"

"Please, Russia." China stood up, adjusting his suit jacket. "I know about the love lives, yes. I can read palms and future. I know all." He started walking away, realizing that he only had ten minutes to go buy teriyaki chicken from some horrible Anglo-Asian chain. "But I do not think you know all yet."

Russia frowned. "What is that supposed to mean?

Walking away, China smiled slightly. "Perhaps there is a reason you and America have never worked out."

And Russia was left alone, and naked, to contemplate for a long time.


End file.
